


Mother

by himitsutsubasa



Category: Supernatural
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-25
Updated: 2014-05-25
Packaged: 2018-01-26 10:42:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1685447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/himitsutsubasa/pseuds/himitsutsubasa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by <a href="http://jackfrost.co.vu/post/80140754501/you-ever-just-want-to-hold-a-character-cradle">this post</a> on tumblr.</p><p>Castiel wakes up to light and warmth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mother

**Author's Note:**

> [jaclcfrost](http://jackfrost.co.vu/post/80140754501/you-ever-just-want-to-hold-a-character-cradle)  
>  you ever just want to hold a character  
> cradle their head in your hands  
> speak in a soothingly quiet sort of voice  
> "you deserve so much more”

When he opened his eyes, he saw light.

It wasn't the light of heaven, or the soft glow of another angel’s grace. It was a brilliant kind of light, the kind he thought he saw when he thought his first thought and came into being. It wasn't the light of God, but it was something similar and strange.

Castiel blinked, waiting for his eyes to focus.

That was… different. Angels didn't need their eyes to focus, they simply looked at grace and essence, but here, he had to squint to see the vague outline of the figure that cradled him.

“Sorry about that.”

The light faded gradually and a woman with dark hair came into view. She had dark, almond eyes and a gentle smile on her pale pink lips. She ran her fingers through his hair and he did not feel the tattered remains of fallen grace or the full power of an angel’s. Castiel stared and stared, but did not see her soul.

“You’re very curious right now.” She sighed like a mother would to her son, still running her hands through his hair.

“Yes.”

He shifted his head in her lap and she tutted at his attempt. “You’re not going anywhere, boyo.”

He settled, risking trust to see what would happen. She continued to card her hands through his hair, kind and warm. A lucid sound came from her throat, crystal sharp like champagne bubbles, but melodious, like the sound of the Impala starting.

He wondered vaguely, if Mary ever ran her hands through Dean’s hair like this, if she had done so that morning, that afternoon, that evening, before she died. He wondered if Dean would ever let him do the same and take away all the sadness and grief.

Angels were not emotional sponges, but he could damn well try.

He felt her tense and relax under his head, but she kept on running her fingers through his hair and humming. As he felt his body falling to sleep, he felt the soft press of lips to his fore head. He heard her whisper soothingly into his skin.

“You deserve so much more.”


End file.
